


Of Lanterns and Memory

by martianapplecrumble



Series: Of cold Witcher, and the warm one that melted his heart [10]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dark/heavy themes, Gen, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, Kaer Morhen, Little Lambert, Mentions of the trials, Minor Injuries, Platonic Affection, Samhain, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Some angst, referenced child death, sad undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martianapplecrumble/pseuds/martianapplecrumble
Summary: "Also, as all of you may know, Samhain is believed to be the time of spirits, time when those no longer with us come out and spend some time on Earth. This means...""We need to watch out for Noonwraiths?" one of the boys from Lambert's group said - Walter, if Lambert remembered right.Lambert was surprised that none of the older witchers cracked a joke at Vesemir's words, he expected Eskel or Geralt to do so. He was shocked to see Vesemir's fallen face, to hear the unusual, heavy silence fall among those who sat in the hall. Well, except for his group, the youngest one."Celebration, but with a sad undertone," Lambert remembered. What did Eskel mean by that?Or, Lambert and his first Samhain at Kaer Morhen.
Relationships: Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Of cold Witcher, and the warm one that melted his heart [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868587
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42
Collections: Sordid Saovine - The Witcher Halloween Event





	Of Lanterns and Memory

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have these headcanons about celebrations at Kaer Morhen, and wanted to write something based on them! And since Halloween is coming... have this snippet of a bittersweet Samhain at the School of Wolf.  
> Since Lambert is small here (the ages are the same as in "First Meeting" and "(Mary had a) Little Lamb", all the affection/feelings in this fic are PLATONIC ONLY! You can check the series description for more info.

For most of the time, Kaer Morhen was a tough school, meant for hard work and training. It was a place where young boys were taught to become strong, cunning moster hunters, to fight the evil out in the world. It was a place where swords clinged day and night, where chemicals boiled, a place full of sound and constant movement. A place not to be idle.

Kaer Morhen was like that for most of the year. But there were exceptions.

Lambert learned that from Eskel during his second month at the castle, when, even though he hated it, he got more or less accustomed to being there, knew his way around it.

"Do you like, always train here? All year along?" Lambert asked one night, sitting on the bed in his room (he was given his own room because he always picked fights with the other boys, refusing to fit in the life of the castle) and drinking cocoa that Eskel'd made for him.

"Well, depends on how you look," Eskel shrugged. "In general, yeah, we do. I mean, I've never been to a regular school, so I don't know how they work. But look."

With that, Eskel pulled out a piece of paper and spread it out in front of Lambert. It had a circle on it, with the sun drawn in the middle, and it was divided into four parts, each of them marked with three lines.

"What the hell's that?" Lambert asked.

"Witcher calendar," Eskel explained. "We have four seasons - well, I guess everyone does? And each season has its own celebration, with its own traditions, and we get a week off our normal training and take part in them."

Lambert examined the calendar, curious.

"Tell me more about those," he demanded.

"Okay, okay," Eskel smiled. "Look, in winter, we have Yule..."

"So do we!" Lambert exclaimed. "I know this one! Thought you don't have such thing in this shitty place."

"Wait until you see the Yule tree in the main hall," Eskel chuckled. "It's damn enormous."

"Like you," Lambert laughed and playfully punched Eskel in the shoulder, receiving warm laughter in return.

"Yeah, that's why I'm one of the people who set it up," Eskel nodded, still chuckling. "Okay, if you know Yule, you've probably heard of the others. Ostara in spring - there's also Beltaine, by the way - Midsommar in summer, and Saovine in autumn."

"Saovine," Lambert drawled, scratching his head. "Is that a celebration? Mom always said that it's the night of spirits, so we have to close doors and windows and leave some food on the porch so our an-sisters... ancient sisters, and ghosts can eat."

Eskel sighed, staring out of the window.

"In Kaer Morhen, it is a celebration. But I'd say, with a sad undertone."

***

Months passed, and Lambert learned some of the celebrations of the castle already. He picked early blossoms and drew patterns on eggs during Ostara and saw the roaring bonfires and fireworks of Beltaine and Midsommar: Vesemir took the young to-be witchers to Kaedwen and let them watch. They all wore flower crowns and were even allowed to make their own fire in the castle yard and jumped over it, and witchers from the older groups competed in doing tricks during jumps. Some got their pants burnt but nobody got hurt, and Lambert laughed and played with everyone, forgetting his sorrows. And he was mesmerised when Eskel, the most skilled with signs, as they were told, pulled up a whole fire show, and was sure to clap and cheer the loudest after he performed.

Summer passed, replaced with autumn. Cold winds came in place of the warmer ones, leaves on the trees around Kaer Morhen turned yellow and orange and red and brown and then fell off. It was getting more and more chilly with every day, rain and thunder becoming more and more common, and Lambert's mood soured with the weather. So much, in fact, that he was surprised when he was told there would be no classes for the next week.

"No classes? Why?" he asked.

"It's Samhain, silly," Vesemir told him. "Haven't Eskel told you about Samhain, or Saovine?"

"He did!" Lambert snapped. "I just don't have a fucking witcher memory to remember all the shit you have here, okay?!"

Vesemir shook his head. "Do watch your mouth. Oh, and, after breakfast, there'll be a gathering in the main hall. Please come there, Lambert."

With that, he left.

"No one tells me what to do," Lambert grumbled, putting his jacket on (it was coarsely sewn together, and the sleeves were of different length and the hems were crammed but Eskel made it for him and it was warm). "Well, maybe except for Eskel, but just fucking maybe!"

"Except for Eskel what?" Eskel asked, peeking into the room.

Lambert turned his head away, blushing for some reason. "Nothing. It was the wall talking."

Eskel snorted. "Heard that walls have ears, but that they have mouths..."

"If the dumb stuff can hear, 'course it can talk. C'mon, let's get breakfast," Lambert muttered sharply and rushed past Eskel, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

***

Lambert didn't want to go to the gathering, just to piss off Vesemir, but Eskel convinced him to do so, saying it was both important and interesting. Begrudgingly, Lambert agreed, but insisted on sitting in the corner the entire time.

The first thing he noticed when he arrived to the main room were pumpkins. Lots of them, golden and orange, so many that he'd never seen such amount of them in the same place before. Some of them were tiny enough to be held in one hand, and covered the surface of two large tables. There were also medium and large ones, standing on the floor. Lambert eyed them with curiousity, sitting on a chair in the furthest corner of the room.

As all the witchers, big and small, took their places, Vesemir cleared his throat.

"As most of you know," he began, and Lambert saw Eskel whisper something to the white-haired witcher next to him (he knew his name was Geralt and they were friends) and both of them started to cackle. Vesemir looked at them with disapproval. "So, as most of you know, today starts the week of Samhain, or Saovine as some call it. To those who don't know Samhain customs of Kaer Morhen, let me introduce you to them. To those who do, let me remind."

"He says that same speech every year," Lambert heard Geralt whisper.

"No, the hell you're talking about? Last time he said "let us remember", not "let me remind"!" Eskel whispered back in fake surprise, and both burst out in stifled laugher again, receiving yet another disapproving look.

"Bowls of sweets are put out in the kitchen, and each of you may take as many as you wish... with reasonable restrictions," an excited murmur rolled over the group of smaller witchers, like Lambert, some of whom have never tried candy in their lives. Lambert himself felt his mouth water; back at home, he only received one sweet thing a year, usually for Yule.

"And if anyone is caught starting a fight over candy, unless it's a proper training sword fight, then they'll get no candy 'till the end of Saovine," Vesemir went on, finding Lambert with his eyes and looking directly at him. Lambert made a face and stuck his tongue out at him.

"Also, as all of you may know, Samhain is believed to be the time of spirits, time when those no longer with us come out and spend some time on Earth. This means..."

"We need to watch out for Noonwraiths?" one of the boys from Lambert's group said - Walter, if Lambert remembered right.

Lambert was surprised that none of the older witchers cracked a joke at Vesemir's words, he expected Eskel or Geralt to do so. He was shocked to see Vesemir's fallen face, to hear the unusual, heavy silence fall among those who sat in the hall. Well, except for his group, the youngest one.

"Celebration, but with a sad undertone," Lambert remembered. What did Eskel mean by that?

"No, Walter," Vesemir shook his head. "If you paid more attention in class, you'd remember that Noonwraiths don't live in the mountains. This isn't about monsters, but about the memory. Memory of those who were witchers of our school, and of those who were meant to be them."

No one spoke a word. Lambert could swear he heard someone stifle a sob.

He was confused, for a moment, and then, he understood.

The Trials.

He heard about them in July, after Midsommar. There were murmurs about them in the corners, and then, just speaking in the open. Lambert thought these were some sort of exams you were supposed to pass to graduate Kaer Morhen and become a Witcher. But he found out they were much, much worse than just that.

The night he found out, he tried to run away. He, and all the boys from his group. But they found all doors and gates shut, sealing their fate. They sobbed, huddled together on the cold stone floor, the most fucked-up yet such a raw first bonding moment.

He cried even more deeper in the night, burying his face in Eskel's strong chest.

"To help lost souls find their way, and show them that they aren't forgotten," Vesemir went on, his voice laced with grief, "every year, we create a River of Lanterns. Every person in this castle carves a small pumpkin and places a candle inside. When night falls, we all go out, light up the candles and set the pumpkins afloat on small boats. For hundreds of years, we've believed that they guide those spirits who are lost and wondering... even though it might be silly for a witcher to believe, we all need to believe in something."

Everyone was silent for a while. Lambert swallowed thickly, sadness welling up deep in his chest.

"Alright," Vesemir said. "Everyone, grab your tools, and a pumpkin and get to work. Older groups, show the youngsters how it's done."

The room was back to life again, boys whispering and chatting quietly as they went to the tables to grab pumpkins and knives. Lambert got up too, pushing past everyone. If he was going to carve a pumpkin, he better get the most good-looking one. And the sharpest knife.

He ducked under the table and grabbed a tiny round pumpkin, of warm orange colour, a spoon, a bowl and a small knife. He then rushed back to his corner. Most boys who already grabbed everything were now sitting by someone older who was helping them out. Lambert searched with his eyes for Eskel, his bright red jacket usually easy to find. Where was-

"There you are!"

"Eskel!" Lambert squeaked, nearly dropping his knife.

"Yeah, that's me," Eskel chuckled. "Sorry for scaring you. Want help?"

"I'm not scared. And I don't need help," Lambert grumbled, moving to the side so Eskel could sit.

"I know you don't need it," Eskel said simply, setting his own pumpkin on the table. "What I asked was, if you wanted it."

Lambert couldn't help but smile a little.

"Perhaps a bit?" he shrugged, looking at Eskel.

"Okay," Eskel nodded with a small, warm smile. "So, look, first you gotta cut off the top, the one with the green stump, like that..."

Lambert watched Eskel cut off the top and tried his best to repeat. It came off neatly, and inside of the pumpkin, there was some orange goo, something like porridge. Lambert made a face and poked at it.

"What am I supposed to do with this shit? Don't tell me to eat it."

"Nah, just take it out like that," Eskel showed him. "It'll go to good stuff. Pies, juice."

"Pies with THIS? EW!" Lambert made a gagging sound but still set to work.

"You'll like them, my word. Have I ever lied to you?"

Lambert thought of this. "No."

Working with Eskel, as always, was cool and engaging, and soon Lambert was already carving his pumpkin, semi-circular eyes and a triangle mouth. He furrowed his brows as he worked, his tongue sticking out a little. The pumpkin was resisting his knife pretty well, but he wasn't giving it up so easily. Not in front of Eskel, in any case.

Oh, wait.

Fuck, his knife got stuck.

He tried to move it forward, backward, but to no avail, and at last, furious, pulled at it with all his force.

And blinked, staring at a long cut on his other hand.

"FUCK! Stupid fucking knife!" he cried, throwing the tool to the floor, eyes watering. The cut stung mercilessly.

Eskel jumped, turning to him.

"Lambert?! OH MY- how... SOMEONE, BRING BANDAGES, COME ON!"

"I'm fine!!" Lambert yelled in protest but he was already picked up and carried out of the room. He felt a stream of blood run down his hand, vision blurry with the coming tears. Damn it, he was crying! Crying in front of... everyone! Oh good, now other witchers and soon-to-be witchers will mock him. Well, except for Eskel. But there was only one Eskel, and so many of those who could hurt Lambert and laugh at him...

...or even worse, punish him.

Lambert squeezed his eyes shut, holding in the tears, as Eskel sat him down on a bench in another room, a quiet one, probably with no one else but them.

"You okay? Hurts a lot?" Eskel sounded worried. Not daring to open his eyes, he felt Eskel take his injured hand and raise it a little.

"Nah," Lambert gritted through his teeth.

"That's a pretty deep cut though... not dangerous, but it must hurt. Ves will bring bandages in a sec."

" 'm fine," Lambert muttered. A tear escaped his shut eyes, rolled down his cheek. Fuck, why couldn't he just control himself?! Lambert trusted Eskel, but he didn't want him to think he was some sort of weak crybaby!

"Lambert."

Eskel's voice was serious and soothing. Lambert took in a deep breath, holding in another tear of pain.

"Lambert, look at me."

"No," he whispered. If he opens his eyes, he would cry. And Lambert didn't want to cry.

"Please."

And Lambert couldn't say no, looking into those yellow eyes with vertical pupils. Older witchers' eyes scared him at first, and he still didn't like their eyes, the eyes of people who took him from his home. But Eskel's seemed different to him. They were of the same colour as honey, a rare treat in his home which Lambert loved. There was warmth in those eyes like no other Witcher here had.

And now, Lambert was looking at them, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"It's fine to cry. And it's fine to cry of pain. It doesn't make you weak, okay?" Eskel whispered, hugging him a little, avoiding moving the injured hand.

"Easy to say for you," Lambert said, his voice shaking. "You're so strong..."

"And I cry too, Lambert," he heard Eskel's quiet voice. "I do."

Lambert shifted closer to him, anger welling up inside.

"If someone makes you cry, I'll fucking punch them," he muttered. "And if it's something, I'll break it!"

"Lambert..." Eskel's voice hitched a little.

"No one should hurt you!" Lambert said, clenching his fists and even more blood leaked out of his hand. "Ow....."

"Shhhhh," Eskel gently stroked his hand, his warm touch somehow soothing the stinging pain. "I won't let anyone hurt you too. And won't let you hurt yourself as well."

Lambert smiled a little at that. He felt and knew, in any case, that Eskel would protect him. And he was now.

"Thanks," he whispered, focusing on Eskel's body heat instead of his hand. Eskel was warm. Soothing. Familiar, somehow, in this whole wretched castle.

The door opened, startling them both, and Vesemir ran in, bandages in one hand and some kind of jar in another.

"Where'd he get hurt?" he asked Eskel.

"His arm. His knife slipped. Not serious, but..." Eskel raised Lambert's arm a little. Lambert didn't object.

Vesemir sat down next to him and inspected the cut.

"Oh boy, how many times do I have to tell you to be careful with a knife? Do you even listen?" Vesemir sighed, pouring some clear liquid over the wound that nearly made Lambert yelp - he had to bite his bottom lip to hold it in. Not in front of Vesemir.

"Not to you!" he muttered, hating his voice for the way it shook. "I hate you!"

"And yet, that's for your own safety," Vesemir was now spreading some kind of salve over the cut, and wrapping the bandages around his arm. "For your safety, not because it's just a rule."

"I don't care," Lambert made a face at him and attempted a middle finger with his injured arm.

"I do," Eskel said, quietly.

Lambert turned his head to look at Eskel. And he knew, instantly, that he does care. And that he truly gives a shit whether Lambert gets hurt or not.

Unlike the others.

His bitterness vanished away, but he held in his smile, just not to give Vesemir the satisfaction of it.

***

"Eskel?"

"Mm?"

"I want a piggyback ride back. I'm hurt."

Eskel chuckled softly. "But you don't need your arm to-"

"I'm hurt!!" Lambert furrowed his brows, getting on Eskel's back - he already bent down to lift him anyway.

"Okay, okay. Just hold on with your healthy arm, alright?"

***

Night fell over Kaer Morhen, covering it with a soft blanket of darkness, broken only by the moon, the stars, and the light from the castle's windows.

And the candles inside the pumpkins, as witchers, old and young, placed them one by one on small wooden boats and pushed them gently into the water of the cold mountain river. Some had names of them, names which Lambert didn't recognise. But he knew what they were there for.

Lambert placed his own, finished with Eskel's help, and watched as the boat with six more pumpkins floated away, slowly, into the night.

More and more boats followed, a whole row of them, and beautiful, warm, yellow lights illuminated the darkness. Like tiny fireplaces, like a road of light that guides the way.

Lambert watched and watched, mesmerised, taken whole by the quiet, unspeakable, sad beauty of the scene before him.

He could feel his eyes sting.

For a second, he took a look away, and saw Eskel standing next to him, Geralt's arm around his shoulder.

The warm light gleamed on the streaks on his cheeks. Wet streaks.

Eskel was crying.

Without a second thought, Lambert rushed to him and hugged him, trying to show that he is here, with him. That he knew why he was in pain. And that he won't let him go through it alone.

A sniffle reached his ears, and a large hand wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close.

Together, they watched in silence as the boats full of lanterns drifted slowly on and on, until the last of them disappeared behind one of the mountains.

***

When at last they made their way back, just before they turned to the castle, Lambert turned his head to look back. To check if he could see the lanterns still, somewhere far away.

But what he saw was shapes.

White, translucent shapes, all walking down the river. Shapes of boys, all about sixteen, playing with each other, some swimming in the river and some floating above it.

Those who were witchers of their school, and of those who were meant to be them.

Lambert's eyes went wide. He blinked. Once.

And they were gone. Gone like they'd never been there in the first place.

"Lambert?"

He turned his head back sharply, to see Eskel, looking at him, worried and confused.

"You okay?"

"I-" Lambert stuttered, unsure of what to say. "Yeah?"

"Saw anything down there?"

"I- um," Lambert shrugged. What the fuck was going on? "I think I did?"

"Hope it wasn't some kind of monster," Eskel sighed, taking him by the hand.

"I think... I think those were... them. The lost spirits..." Lambert said quietly, struggling a little to match Eskel's wide steps. "I'm not lying, I swear!"

Eskel was quiet. They walked towards the castle, looking at the stars above them, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I know you aren't," he said, at last, as they almost reached the main gates. "On my first Saovine here, I saw them too."

"Does this... mean anything?" Lambert whispered.

Eskel shrugged. "I tried asking, but everyone thought I was making things up. Perhaps... we should just leave candy out. And some larger pumpkins. You know... to help them find their way."

Lambert nodded, looking up at the witcher. His tears have dried up by now, leaving salty trails on his cheeks.

And promised to himself to survive the trials, no matter what. So Eskel will never have to cry and hurt like this because of him. So that he'd never have to carve his name on a pumpkin.

"I'll help you!" he said, squeezing Eskel's hand.

And down below, behind the mountains, the River of Lanterns flowed on and on, to help lost souls find their way, and show them that they aren't forgotten.


End file.
